The only one speaking of judgement is you, Plasma noted drily, his clear gaze traveling over Lace before looking back to Reverie.

These two were truly intriguing. He felt his mind snap through reactions, a chain of realizations crackling faster than a blink. His bonded had picked up on his responses; she wanted him home with her, where she could watch over him. He wouldn't be who he was, have the responsibilities he did, if he were that sort of stallion. They all held responsibilities at home; he had no right to watch over the others, to guard and instruct, if he couldn't even handle his own affairs. There were those who needed such protection, who never ventured out on their own; he was to give such defense, not receive it.

The urge to have him return helped with another realization; this whole bonding thing was still rawly new, still vastly unfamiliar. The small ah that came with understanding rippled with his new knowledge, snap-snap-snap, too fast for him to recognize what it was that had clicked into place. He would take the time to explore it later; now wasn't the time.

The question for the moment was how he would choose to respond to his current company. He knew quite well that his demeanor wasn't easily accepted by everyone; Caustic had the same trouble. There were some elementals, like OakHeart, who could be dangerous if it came right down to it and yet lacked the disposition. Plasma, Caustic, they weren't kind at heart; they were tamers of the raw storms, and both could and would kill without a thought. It was what made some of his new bondmates leery of him; he was more than capable of doing harm, he was willing.

The ground snapped and sizzled under his hooves as it was, a small surge of plasma sprouting from under him in response to his emotions. The fact that it was localized under his hooves, a small snap of energy there and gone so fast it was easily overlooked, was another factor to consider. It took an extreme amount of self discipline to maneuver his abilities. Hybrid had the same discipline, though he was gentler at heart and less willing to use his talents to harm; he would rather revel in the enjoyment of his storms.

And this, once he considered his elemental brother, probably explained why the green scaled fellow remained hidden at home, running from a world that rejected him. Plasma could understand such a thing; and condemn it. He himself was not so weak. Let others hide away in defeat, if they would; not him.

Whatever his demeanor he had, in actuality, neither done nor said anything to provoke hostility. Here was one who would glare upon sight of him, and another who would ignore company for self-grooming and tsk about judgement. He had spoken of how different each serian would adjust - and it was truth, that some may be overwhelmed by such changes, in spite of having asked for them. He had dismissed Reverie as both companion and threat; he wouldn't try to placate her, yet nor would he take notice if she should sit and glare the whole time. An active effort to avoid the offered conflict, compounded by a choice to leave particular opinions unstated. She seemed to react positively to such efforts, which was rather unexpected if he was to be honest, and yet no sooner had the mare traded condemnation for surprise than had Lace returned her attention to her company to cast her own disapproval.

Frankly, both of them should be ashamed of themselves.

And yet he got the distinct impression that neither of them recognized their blatant trespass.

So the question; to answer this conflict that was so readily offered, or avoid such aggravation once again? Whatever he chose, he would have to say something; had it been someone under his care to have been treated in such a manner he would have to speak up on their behalf. It was no different to stand up for himself.

You both speak of the differences among bonded and bound, alike; and yet the gaze you cast upon me is far from accepting, he noted, the chain reaction that had snapped behind his eyes gone in a blink of decision. It was not simply that his element was plasma; he was Plasma, in every aspect. Neutral, rapid, intense, deadly, from his own talents to how he processed information and the way he thought and felt. He had found that if he didn't stop to meditate on a regular basis he would have difficulty absorbing all of his own reactions, so quickly they ripped through him.

Each is different; some more so than others.

If they wanted a fight they would have it, though he wouldn't be the one to start it. He remembered the edict from his bonded, a desire for him to avoid causing damage where he could. So he gave them the opportunity to choose this peace they spoke of.

Just because he could kill without turning a hair didn't mean that he had to. Plasma had no preference in the matter. It seemed the pair had begun to come around so a pleasant encounter may yet still be achieved, and yet enough was enough.

Reticent had been used to its silence, these past few days. The rest of his altar adjusting to their bonds, their existences--not much time left to linger in the in-between. It had been a quiet place for him to go, when the claustrophobic press of his bonded became too much. All those voices. The aftermath he'd been dropped into.

Whatever. He'd snatch relief where he could find it. Sive, at least, allowed him this. Encouraged it, even. He hadn't been given much of a choice in the whole of this calling--but choosing her, at least, seemed the best of it.

It was what came along with her that grated. Something, perhaps, a little like what was rippling through the thought-space. How troublesome.

He crested the hill slowly, gritting his teeth at the three points of pressure wearing with new vengeance against the reef of his skull. As if seeing them would be the remedy--but he could mark them, if nothing else. Two females, one male--Elemental. He could tell that from here, from the flash-flare brilliance branding the backs of his eyes. He closed them, collected.

In the darkness, he recognized them--rather, more of what they’d once been. Even in that formless space, he’d kept to himself, but the flickers of their unbeing had crossed his, every now and then. The Elemental still burned clearest, but he seemed to have cleaved most strongly to the essence that had been. Reticent wished he could’ve been so lucky.

Little matter--material he was, and would be for as long as it took. The thought-space was his sole reprieve, and as of now it was shot with tension. For what, he didn’t know. He couldn’t quite recall if they’d bothered with such negotiations of place and power in the before, or if it was the fault of being bound to words now. Either way, there was no peace for him long as it continued. But therein, the catch: they were all part of that channel, could use it however they wished, and his own personal comfort was technically owed little consideration in the sway of things.

Still, principles and whatnot. A consideration, if you mean to end up at each other’s throats tonight. He kept his tone neutral, his place apart--if there was going to be violence, he’d rather be up here than down there. Not all of us have such complete mastery of ourselves in this form. I can hear all of you, and I do not yet know how to stop.

A shrug, more for himself, since such a small gesture would be lost across the distance. Or not, depending on how good their eyes were. I’d appreciate it greatly if any of you were to tell me how to deaden this unfortunate connection. Or, if you could just keep it down, even. I haven't had much chance for rest.

|| The tension was indeed enough to make your skin crawl. She'd been so out of it with her daydreaming, it had taken a while for full brain function to kick in... and in the meantime it seems she'd helped raise some hackles. Lace apparently felt it too, seemed to be trying to help as best she could. Reverie met Plasma's eye for a moment, and could sense disapproval there even before he spoke it. And speak it he sure did.

Another form crested the nearest rise a small distance away. This form was bright enough to be fairly clear despite holding back a bit. At each others' throats eh? Aye, he would be able to sense it even before he could physically see them. It was strange how the voices seemed stronger now that they had gained a more physical form. Was it the bonding?

Before her mind wanderings got away with her too much, she had to address the problem. Please forgive me for rudeness. It was not intended. I get so deep in my daydreams and remembrances, it can at times take me some time to wake back up. If that makes any sense at all. I did not mean to be grouchy. I came here seeking peace, which I mistook for solitude. But I am glad you both are here. Truly. I don't wish to quarrel, or to be less than accepting. She peeked at them both in turn with the hope that they would understand her sincerity. It was difficult when her mind wandered so far.

Another question came to mind. Best to ask rather than to speculate and risk more mental tangents. What inspired the change? In putting out your blues? If I might ask, that is. It was pure curiosity, as her sensitive ears had picked up the menacing crackle of his hooves on the ground. One guess was that it related to his irritation at the current situation.

And now. Another mind to the mix. You want to quiet the Link? She'd thought about it, briefly. Then dismissed it rather quickly. It just seemed so a part of who she was... Or perhaps it was just that it felt like all she had left from her past. The flavor and tone she got from each different mind voice was so unique that she rather treasured it. Studying this new creature gave her pause. He did seem weary, which made her wonder if she wasn't the only one a little overwhelmed by the new situation.

The fiery response from the stallion sparked anger inside her. Her eyes widened before she glared at him. How dare he insinuate that she was the judgmental one. For a split second she considered spitting back a comeback, which would have certainly been fueled by her emotions. She held her tongue instead, knowing better than to take his accusations personally. She was under some stress lately, perhaps she was a bit sensitive. Luckily, the other mare spoke up again and broke the silence. She apologized, even though Lace was sure none of this was her fault. Lace offered a nod, and a simple, my apologies as well. I am still adjusting to our new life here and might be a little sensitive.

Relief came in the form of yet another Serian. This one chose to stay perched up on the nearest hill, only close enough to cast a fiery silhouette in the distance. Their telepathy allowed them to hear him loud and clear, though. It was Reticent, who Lace remembered as a stallion whose body was coated in flames, a gorgeous near-leopard pattern of reds, oranges, and yellows. As he spoke, she closed her eyes to listen. It may have been an attempt to dodge the judgmental gaze of Plasma. Reticent was inquiring about their channel, their voices, and how to tune them out. It was something Lace hadn't thought of in a long time.

It was quiet for a moment, as the group of four pondered the question. How could she explain something that came so naturally and effortless to her? After only a moment of thought, Lace recalled a time when she struggled to silence the thoughts of her own kind. It was like trying to fall asleep, only your mind continuously spins with thoughts. No matter how many times you tell your brain to hush, it continues to over-analyze every life choice you've ever made. Eventually, you either give up on sleeping or you exhaust yourself. It took quite some time before Lace was able to fall asleep quickly or on queue. Finding a way to quiet your mind was tricky.

She opened her eyes, and even though Reticent wouldn't be able to see her smile, she hoped he could sense it. Hmm... that's a fun question. She shot a glance at Reverie. How do we explain it? It's all about focus, quieting your mind... getting lost in yourself rather than everyone else. Lace shook her head, her silky bangs waving back and forth. Heh. That doesn't really help, does it?

So many thoughts flashing by, so many options, so much happening already. This was fascinating. How would it all play out? He knew he influenced certain outcomes, yet there was only so much he could take responsibility for.

The most pressing issue would take the longest to address. He would start simply, then.

Lace. How strange that her first response to the mention of expressions was to glare at him. He had nearly heard the hmph behind that disapproving glance she gave when she ceased grooming herself, and now she offered anger. She has cast him as the villain, then, and that was all there was to it.

He could certainly give her a villain, if she wanted to insist. It would be too easy to play the part just to see what she would do. And far too difficult to recover from that mindset - ah. That explained a few other things, back home. Being comfortable with cruelty was a very long path to be trapped on. No tormenting, then. Not right now at least. Certainly not when he had been placed in the role. He would control who he was; not some random mare.

It was disappointing, as he had originally thought she would be the peacemaker. But then it was always disappointing to see someone falling prey to stereotypes. Very well, adjustments could be made.

Or perhaps he was mistaken. Adjustments yet again, words of peace tailing the initial reaction. She had at least acknowledged her own need to adjust, that she might be sensitive. It was still a concession, of sorts. Perhaps he had hit a sore spot in some way. This could be a promising development. It was hard to tell, amid the contradictions in her response. He would wait and see. In any case, he knew he was not the best stallion to be sensitive around, as he was possibly just a touch below sane, and more than a touch off-putting.

Plasma looked at her as she spoke, acknowledging her reactions even as his own burned through his mind, and with a small nod of thanks dismissed the moment and moved on. If she could compromise enough to speak peacefully, he could at least do the same and leave the trouble behind them. After all, she hadn't been half as unwelcoming as Reverie. At least he had to misstep somehow to set off her sensitivity - not knowing what it was didn't negate that it was still a reaction to something, which was at least a half a step better.

Reverie. Now here was a surprise. Plasma found himself impressed with more than her eloquence, although her abilities with words inspired further efforts on his part. She was certainly a strong character in more than temper. He wondered if he might one day come to prefer her company - what was that word - to be friends. Perhaps. She intrigued, impressed, and inspired him, all within a few simple exchanges.

Mistakes are easily made, he answered, and felt his mind stretch a bit with the effort to match her apparent efforts, and easily understood. He didn't smile, exactly, but his burnt brown gaze did soften. He saw no need to harbor ill will and, in his own way, tried to express that.

It is also why I have repressed the overflow of energy, he added, and gave a rather disdainful glance at his naked flesh. It seemed odd that it seemed a bit more blurry without the shifting plasma hues playing across his hide. It was rather hard to focus on him. Mistakes happen. My element is not a kind one.

Something small shifted deep in his eyes as he said it, a shadow of memory. There was very good reason he was so severe, so strict. He could not make mistakes.

It was not only the method of his manifestation that had left him so rawly bare. Twice, he had made the most unforgivable of mistakes. In the first he had truly deserved the role of villain. It was such an easy role to fill that one need not even try. He certainly hadn't.

It was all he had to offer in exchange for her eloquent understanding, for there were some things that need not be spoken. He didn't need to tell her of his own mistakes, just as he hadn't explained the small flicker of panic that still erupted when he examined the bonds he had tethered himself to just a bit too closely. He had agreed to this, had asked for it for the sake of power and yes, even the comfort of safety. He had not realized - not quite - that he would be hers. That she would be the one to cut these ties, that she would be part of him, with him at all times. Asked for or not, he was effectively trapped. Unless she released him. But he knew that wouldn't happen. She had never released one of his kind. Swallowed one of them hole, apparently - the joys of a shifter for a bonded, he supposed - but never released.

A circle could very well bring the same panic. Most found the sensation comforting. He thought they were the ones who were mad.

But why speak of it? It would only serve one of two potentials, had he chosen to answer when they had first expressed confusion over the concept. He could explain and spark the same trouble within their own hearts, or explain and have the very concept so alien to their own thinking that it could seem nothing but bizarre, madness at it's finest.

No, there were some things that need not be spoken of. Finding words that wouldn't sound like a threat when coming from someone like him was difficult enough. The efforts he had managed would have to suffice.

But now, the stranger; the longer problem, the one that would occupy them for some time (maybe).

It was his first statement that clued him in. Plasma had never mentioned his control, only considered it - the impression that such a disposition might leave, the expectations it rose in himself. And yet, here this stranger spoke of it. They had not been shouting, had not been speaking through the distance-link that would allow their alter to speak with another no matter how far they were. This stranger, then, must still be so tied into the ether that he held still some talent of empathy. Those thoughts that were not shared outwardly but rippled, all the same, through metaphysical - those could be heard. It would be exhausting, yes. It would be an interesting experiment to see how it might be remedied.

He spoke strangely, beyond the non-sequitur. To be at each other's throats invoked a whole new concept; strange, as none of them had the claws or teeth for such a thing, although there were plenty of creatures who did. Some of their kind even did, but not them. Perhaps the others wouldn't find the phrasing so strange, however. He was probably being too literal again.

Plasma studied this stranger and bent his mind over this new project, searching for the words even as he did.

The words would be important.

This would be easier with an elemental, he half muttered, and narrowed his eyes just a little as he attempted to translate his viewpoints into a more normal thoughtbase. In my experience, the Link is the same as all our other parts. If yours is fully opened, you need to simply restrict it. It's simply the difference between walking and stomping.

How did one explain the difference between walking and stomping to someone who didn't even realize they were stomping? To walk, you stepped gentler. Simple. To quiet the Link, you restrict the influx. Simple.

It was like a leg, like any part of them, although it was best compared to his elemental talent as it was also purely non-physical. They were all standing, all aware of the squishy-soft earth beneath their hooves, of the pressure upon their limbs and joints. None of them, from what he could tell, were actively aware of such things, but the knowledge was still there. He did at least have a slight advantage in the area of physical overstimulation by being spared all that flickering hair. If he were to quite suddenly have a corporeal mane and tail to randomly tickle his neck and legs it would be quite distracting. At least until he learned how to restrict that influx of information, as well.

Perhaps that was all it was. Perhaps it came down to learning not to notice it, rather than a lack of noticing that one was shouting. The stranger wasn't the one shouting, after all, but receiving everyone else's influences within the ether. Maybe it would merely take time to learn to allow it to flow beyond him; or maybe it was something he could take active control of.

In hindsight, or side-sight, or whatever sight might serve, he couldn't say why he'd asked them for help. When he'd set off, led by the throbbing in his skull, it'd been with the intention to ask them for quiet. Nothing more. But the question had come to follow so--naturally. Impulsively. Familiarity, perhaps? Something like that. The Link, the before-self, Altar--any number of things doomed them to more than strangers. This flesh-form and what drove it was a tricky thing. Wonderful.

But perhaps they could be useful, who knew. They'd at least seemed comfortable enough in themselves to argue, and now to turn that on its head and make amends. The tension quieted with the words; he could be grateful for that.

Closer, now, though, other things slipped through. Reverie's tendency to drift, some sideways ebb when she pulled herself back. The spark of Lace's fury, the deliberate cull of her words, the vague glide of her admiration for the physical form he'd been burdened with. Maybe she was into those sorts of things--she'd manifested wings after all. Or she'd just been stuck with them, as he had with all--this.

He kept Plasma in the corner of his eye, in this plane and that one; focusing too much on him, on the erratic pulse of his thoughtstream, felt like a bad idea, instinctually. Even though the Elemental was presenting less, holding back. Maybe it was that suggested empathy--one of those stallions who'd come back just as he'd came into being, that was his gift. Or curse, according to the little one. Astarte, or something.

He didn't have it that bad. He didn't have any inclination to let it get that way, either.

Still, what was offered wasn't much of anything he hadn't tried. Reverie had an affection for the Link, that much was clear, as she dropped the matter entirely out of consideration after her question. Lace seemed amused. Lost in himself rather than everyone else? He doubted there was enough of him to drown their cacophony--like a single reed against a symphony. Still--

Thought that counts, I suppose. Thanks. He could be courteous enough.

Plasma's focus shifted to the question, to him, like a sun coming through a pinhole. Much easier, I imagine. He opened his eyes, fixed his gaze somewhere to the right of the three--like the physical avoidance might help. I have closed it, distanced it as best as I can manage. If all this still leaks through, then I gather there's some internal problem I've got to figure out.

How troublesome. But really, it wasn't their concern. He still had no idea why he'd let it slip. Sleep deprivation, perhaps. These new forms did need such things; he was still prone to forget that. Anyways, I'm grateful for the suggestions.

He had nothing beyond that, really, only a vague notion that walking away outright might spark some new ripple. The singular focus on his question seemed to be keeping the tension level even, at least. He could deal with that.